


Game Of All Fours

by spockandawe



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Aftercare, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Omorashi, Shower Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-30
Updated: 2014-06-30
Packaged: 2018-02-06 22:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1874076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spockandawe/pseuds/spockandawe
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The trick is to make him think he has a chance of winning. Eridan’s just too uptight to admit that he still enjoys himself when he’s not in charge (like you aren’t just the same, you hypocrite). So you’ve got the added challenge of setting things up to make him think that he’s going to come out on top when you have every intention of taking him to pieces.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Game Of All Fours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lir/gifts).



> [Tumblr link](http://spockandawe.tumblr.com/post/91574661136/game-of-all-fours-spockandawe-homestuck-archive-of)

                The trick is to make him think he has a chance of winning. Eridan’s just too goddamn uptight to admit that he still enjoys himself when he’s not in charge (like you aren’t just the same, you hypocrite). He likes it just as much when you have him pinned and begging for more, just like you love it when he has you tied up and completely helpless, even though neither of you has ever said so out loud. So you’ve got the added challenge of setting things up to make him think that he’s going to come out on top when you have every intention of taking him to fucking pieces. 

                You’ve been planning this night for a while. If you play your cards right, he won’t have any clue what’s coming until it’s too late. He’s sitting in the next room right now, flipping through a trashy magazine, and you’re in the kitchen, making two of those rot-your-teeth-sweet mixed drinks he likes so much. You walk in, set the drinks down on the coffee table, and get right up in his personal business. He pretends like he’s not paying attention for a few seconds, but then he’s right into it, dropping the magazine and working his hands up under your shirt.

                Once you’re sure he’s focused entirely on you, you pull back and whip out the handcuffs. You pause for a moment, for dramatic effect, and grin. “How about a game?”

                His fins are starting to flush a bit violet, but he’s still trying to play it cool. It’ll be all worth it if you can make him crack later. “What, on you or on me? Either way, that a bit borin’, don’t you think?”

                “Nah, bro. We’re going to mix it up this time.” Another pause and you lean closer. “You and me, handcuffed to each other, no holds barred. Winner has his wicked way with the loser.”

                His eyebrows go up. “You’re gonna lose.”

                You twitch your shoulder and look at him over the edge of your glasses. “I’m willing to take my chances.”

                He laughs, but he’s already reaching for the cuffs. Once his left wrist and your right are hooked together, he starts to tip you backwards onto the couch, but you hold up a hand. “Safeword?”

                “C’mon. This is too fuckin’ vanilla for that shit.”

                “Nope. This show doesn’t go anywhere until you check in. Say it for me, bro.”

                “Fine, _fine_ ,” he growls. “It’s fuckin’ appleberry, okay? Happy? An’ for the record, I liked you better before you started hangin’ out with Terezi.”

                He starts to press forward again, going right for the side of your neck with those teeth of his, and as much as you’d normally enjoy the experience, you have other plans. You reach out with your free hand to snag the remote. One button, and the entire television system comes to life, just starting to roll the opening credits of the movie. Eridan jumps at the sudden noise, and all things considered, you’re probably lucky he doesn’t take a chunk of neck with him.

                He looks up at the movie, back down at you, and rolls his eyes. “Seriously?”

                You sit back up, taking him with you. “Yes, seriously. What, did you think this was just going to be a quick fuck? No, dude. I’m giving you the full date experience. A culturally-sensitive romantic movie and refreshments, because you’re worth it. Here, I even made those drinks you like so much.”

                You picked this movie because you have it on good authority that it made Karkat Vantas cry. Say what you want, the guy has good taste in romances. And Eridan does stop grumbling and fidgeting within the first five minutes, staring at the screen and forgetting to say rude things under his breath about people who can’t even do a simple glubbin’ date right. He settles down laying between your legs with his back tucked up against your chest and your arms wrapped around him. When you hand him his drink, he takes it without a word.

                By the time the lead and her kismesis are having a running gunfight through a crowded apartment building, Eridan’s sighing over romantic serendipity and has almost finished his drink. Once he drains his glass, you take it and smoothly exchange it for yours. ‘Yours.’ He tries to argue that you should have it without taking his eyes off the screen, but you wave him off with something about how the sugar’s making your teeth hurt, and he takes it without protesting.

                As the movie’s hitting its climax, he’s starting to fidget, just a little. Your arms are still around him, and when you apply subtle pressure to his stomach, he shifts uncomfortably and grabs your hands to move them. As the closing credits start rolling, you might be imagining it, but you think his legs are pressed together, and he’s _definitely_ wriggling in place.

                He says, “One sec, I’ll be right back—” But when he gets up and tries to go, he doesn’t even make it a full step before coming up short against the chain. He frowns. “Undo this. I’ve gotta go take care a somethin’ first.”

                “No can do, bro. The game started when we put these on.”

                He yanks on his end, but you stay put. “This shit isn’t part a the fuckin’ game. I just hafta go to the ablution block for a minute, an’ then I’ll come back an screw you into the goddamn floor. Where are the keys?”

                “My room,” you lie, “which, you may note, is further away than the bathroom.” You pause. “What’s wrong, wanna appleberry out?”

                “No, but pee isn’t _part_ a sex stuff!”

                You just laugh.

                He snarls, “Get _up_. We’re goin’ together.”

                You grin. “Make me.”

                In a plain contest of strength, you’d lose every time. Even if you’ve got a few inches on him, you’ll never catch up in terms of muscle. As far as you can tell, it’s just a highblood thing. But you grew up strifing robots, and you’re used to being the weakest guy around. This is going to be about fighting dirty.

                He manages to haul you off of the couch without too much trouble, but then it’s your goal to make this as painful as possible. There’s so much furniture, so many doorways and corners between you and the bathroom, and he has to get you past _all_ of them. He’s cursing loudly by the time he even gets you to the hallway, and even then, there are all kinds of places for you to brace yourself where he has to backtrack, untangle you, and drag you forward again.

                The best is when you’re passing the kitchen, where you manage to unbalance him and shove him through the doorway. You even manage to kick the door shut behind you. _Hell yes_. You are the ultimate asshole. While he’s still off-balance, you shove him up against the closed door and get a thigh between his legs. You get in close enough to kiss him, and he’s not trying to push you off all that hard, and when he grinds down against you, you figure it’s time to kick things up a notch. You get his wrists up above his head and catch them with your cuffed hand, then bring your free hand down to his stomach and _push._

                He gasps against your mouth and starts fighting to pull away, but the poor guy can’t get much leverage and oh, would you look at that, you seem to have snagged one of his legs and pulled him even further off balance. While he’s fighting to get his wrists free, you move your free hand to get a nice big handful of nook through his pants, and you sink your teeth into the side of his neck. He curses and moans and shoves you away. Despite your best efforts, he eventually manages to get the kitchen door open and drags you back out into the hallway.

                From there it’s a pretty straight shot to the bathroom, but you dig your heels in again as he hauls you towards that door. He turns and you and _snarls_ , all his teeth showing, and it sends a shiver down your spine that goes straight to your dick. You hold up your free hand. “Chill for a second, bro.”

                “What _now??_ ”

                You pause to take a breath (and to watch him jitter back and forth from foot to foot). “Now, you’re capable of getting me through that door. But I’m not so sure you can do it as quickly as you need. I’m willing to compromise.”

                He’s waiting for you to go on, but seriously, the whole goal of this night is to fuck with him, and this seems like a good spot to pause and wait for a response. Finally, he snarls, “ _What compromise?_ ”

                You grin. “Get me off and I’ll let you go piss.”

                He doesn’t even bother to answer, just hauls you in by the handcuff and kisses you with some serious enthusiasm. He lets you get him up against a wall again because he’s too busy unzipping your fly and shoving a hand down your pants. You grind down against _his_ leg this time and moan for him, because sacrificing a little of your self-control is worth it for the way it feeds his vanity. His cuffed hand is down between your legs, and would you just look at that, it leaves _your_ cuffed hand in the perfect spot to give him a little attention in return.

                His nook’s dripping enough that you can feel it through his pants. You break the kiss to laugh and say, “Shit, bro. Did you piss yourself already? Because that is _soaking_ wet—”

                You lose your line of thought for a moment when he scrapes those shark teeth of his over your throat, but you’ve still got a hand up against his nook, and his legs are pressed together hard enough it’s making your fingers ache. You run the fingers of your free hand along his bulge and pull yourself together enough to add, “It sure looks like you’re getting off on this. Don’t wrigglers get bathroom trained before they hit pupation? Or did you just never get around to it?”

                You’re fully expecting him to curse, blame it on you, maybe even snap and really lay into you. You’re braced for it, and you can see him trying to get it together to say something, but he just lets his head drop against your shoulder and _sobs_. “Dirk, _fuck,_ please— I need— Please just let me—”

                You take the time for one careful pause. You pretend to consider. And then you say, “Okay, man. You can piss.”

                He makes a break for the toilet, and you haul back on the handcuff to pull him up short. He looks at you, all desperation and confusion, and you take the opportunity to slam him up against the wall and hold him there, with your thigh grinding up against his nook again. He tries to push you away, but you’re too close for him to get any real leverage. He gasps, “You _said_ —”

                You laugh. “I never said you could use the toilet.”

                He’s writhing frantically, trying to break away. When you take your hand, place it on his stomach and push, he _wails_. No matter how hard he thrashes, you don’t let up with the pressure until you feel a wet stain spreading against your leg. He has his face turned away and his eyes tight shut, and you can see that he’s violet all the way out to the tips of his fins. When you lean up against him, you can feel the way he’s shivering, and you hear something that sounds suspiciously like a sob. He buries his face in your shoulder and you can feel wetness spreading there too. He keeps shaking while you press up close to him and sneak your free arm around his back to hold him even closer.

                You kiss his fin and hold him against you until finally he stiffens up again and starts trying to push you away. You let him this time. He’s still staring off into the far corner of the room with his lips pursed together like he was never crying in the first place, so you reach into your pocket for the handcuff key and finally let him loose. While you take your own cuff off, he looks down at himself, takes a deep shuddery breath, and squeezes his eyes shut again. You get in close again, helping him out of his soaking pants, whispering little soothing nothings the whole time. If he shoves you away again, you’re prepared to listen, but everything you know about Eridan tells you that he’s going to need all the attention and reassurance you can give him.

                When you’ve got him stripped down, his bulge is still out and coiling restlessly against his stomach, but it’s not the time for that just now. You take his glasses off, and after a moment’s thought, you take off yours as well. You help him into the shower, get him settled on the little bench, and turn on the water to an in-between temperature that’s not going to cook him or freeze you. You strip off your own clothing, bundle it up with his, and run it all off to the laundry room. You figure leaving it in here wouldn’t do much for the recovery process. Eridan hasn’t moved, but as you climb into the shower with him, his eyes flick up to you, and then immediately away. He’s still bright violet and sitting all hunched in on himself.

                You set yourself down next to him on the narrow bench, which leaves you pressed together side to side and leg to leg. You put an arm around his back, but he stays put, sitting all stiff and glaring determinedly off into the far corner. You rub soothing circles into his hip, and with your free hand, you snag the soap. His bulge twitches and reaches for your arm the first time you touch his thigh, but you work carefully and slowly, giving him the space to decide whether or not he still wants things to go that direction.

                After a few minutes, you venture, “That was really hot, you know.”

                His fins are pinned back against his head as he snarls, “What, you get off on watchin’ me humiliate myself like a fuckin’ wriggler?? Yeah, thanks, I really fuckin’ appreciate that.”

                “Hey, whoa there. Chill, bro.” You tug him close and kiss him just under the fin. “I mean it. I’ve been getting off to that fantasy for the last three _weeks_. And seeing you like that in person? A million times better.”

                His fins twitch at that. He’s still sulking, but he tilts his head to the side to give you better access to his neck, and well. You are _more_ than happy to oblige. You find a spot that makes him gasp and shift, and he blurts, “Three whole weeks?”

                You laugh against his skin. “Been thinking about it for a bit longer than that. But I’ve been wanting to see you like that for a while.”

                Eridan snorts. “Don’t see what was so fuckin’ great about it.”

                “Yeah? Will you feel better if I tell you just how goddamn hot you looked?”

                He shivers, and when you dig your teeth in, you can hear his breath hitch. “I— I think that might help.”

                Well that works just fine, because you could talk about that forever. His bulge lashes and catches onto the fingers of the hand you’re holding him close with. When you catch the lowest tine of his fins in your teeth, he gasps. You let your fingers play with him while you talk, leaving half your attention for how he shifts and reacts to what you’re doing to him. “It was fucking beautiful is what it was. If you’d decided to safeword out, I could’ve let you out in about two seconds flat, but I’m so goddamn glad you went through with it.”

                When you let your fingers ripple along the length of his bulge, he cries out and arches against the tiles. “You wanted—It was about fighting back?”

                You chuckle. “Damn straight. Seeing your face when you realized you weren’t going to make it… Could’ve just about blown a load in my pants.”

                He gropes blindly for your free hand, and shoves it down between his legs. You toy with him, touching all along the outside of his nook, letting his bulge squeeze your fingers without squeezing back. His head is thrown back far enough that his horns are scraping against the wall. He’s trying to talk, but every time he opens his mouth, you dip your fingers just the smallest bit inside him so he gasps, chokes, and stutters. Finally he growls and snaps at you, and manages to say, “Stop _teasin’_ , you asshole.”

                You stop moving all together for a split second, and as he starts to protest, you press two fingers deep inside him all at once. His bulge has a death grip on your fingers, but you manage to move enough to stroke him at the base of his bulge, right where it meets his nook. With your teeth, you gently tug on the edge of his fin. His eyes are tight shut and he’s gasping for air so hard that his gills are flexing open every time he breathes. You start to work a third finger in, and lean close to whisper, “Remember how nice it was when you finally lost it? Remember how _good_ it felt? All that pressure building up for hours, until you finally just let it go.” He wails and digs his claws into your thigh as he comes. His legs are pressed tightly together, but you flex your fingers gently inside him as he spills all over your hands.

                You’re prepared to cuddle him for a while longer, maybe flatter him a bit more while he recovers, but he opens his eyes and stares at you for only a moment before he slides off the bench and goes to his knees in front of you. He spreads your legs further open than is necessary (or comfortable), bracing his shoulders against you as he moves forward and leans his head on your thigh. Your dick twitches at the feeling of his breath on your skin. He sits there for long enough without moving that you can’t help asking, “Well?”

                He laughs and takes you in hand, idly running his fingers up and down your cock. “Just thinkin’ is all. About that shit you pulled.”

                “Given that reaction, I’m pretty sure you enjoyed it, bro.”

                “Maybe. But I was thinkin’ about somethin’ else that’s probably goin’ to interest _you._ ” You wait in breathless silence while he plays with you. He wraps that inhumanly cool, slick tongue around you, and you shudder. “Funny thing about you, Dirk. You maybe like the fightin’ and shit, sure. But you like it a damn sight better when you’re forced _not_ to fight.”

                You try to protest, but your words trail off into nothing as he lets his claws press up right against you, not hard enough to break skin, but enough to make you painfully aware how _easy_ it would be for him to make you bleed.

                “See, here’s what I’m thinkin’. When I tell you to, you’re gonna drink a proper fuck-ton of water, or soda, or whatever I feel like havin’ you drink. I’m not gonna have to tie you up, or fuckin’ handcuff you, or any fuckin’ tricks like that. I won’t need that. Because you’ll just stay right where I put you, won’t you?”

                You open your mouth to argue, and nothing comes out. He grins up at you, all shark teeth, and continues, “You’ll sit right where I tell you to, an’ I won’t have to tie you down, or even order you not to move. Because this is a fuckin’ challenge now. You’re gonna piss all over yourself, an’ you won’t even have the excuse of bein’ tricked into it.”

                You can’t help it. You moan. Your hips twitch as you try to press yourself further into his hands, and he laughs. “I’m thinkin’ you’ll beg me to do somethin’ about it. Order you to stay put, or somethin’ similar. But I won’t. You’re gonna stay right where I leave you, an’ you’ll be left knowin’ that you’re the only thing keepin’ you there. You’ll piss yourself without even bein’ able to say that I forced you do it.”

                He bends forward smoothly, and takes you all into his mouth. You’re already so, so close, and you can feel your self-control slipping, and god, you want it, you _want_ him. He shifts, lets his teeth just barely graze against the base of your cock. You lose it. You grab his horns and hold him there while you shake, feeling the cool constriction of his throat working around you. When you finally let him go, your hands are shaking, and you rake them through your hair to hide it. Eridan grins up at you, unbearably smug, and deliberately licks his lips.

                You towel each other off, teasing and sniping, and eventually wind up in a big damp tangle leaning up against the bathroom door, with your arms and legs all around each other and his horns digging into your shoulder. You talk about little, unimportant things for a while, until finally you can’t resist temptation any longer, and you ask when he’s planning to have fun with you like he promised. He just laughs and tells you that it could happen at any time, so you’d better be prepared. In retaliation, you manage to braid half of his hair before he realizes what you’re doing. You don’t push the issue any further, but. As far as you’re concerned, ‘any time’ can’t come soon enough. You aren’t going to rush it, because this outcome is even better than the best you could have hoped for, but maybe if you’re very, _very_ lucky, ‘any time’ might be as soon as ‘tomorrow.’


End file.
